


In Shades of Black and White

by DrBeak1669



Category: RWBY, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrBeak1669/pseuds/DrBeak1669
Summary: Earth-90214. 1941. World War II. The bloodiest conflict in human history. The Nazi regime razes the lands of Europe, swallowing nations into their war machine in a bid to conquer all. And across the ocean, stood their greatest fear — the United States. And in hopes to destabilize the sleeping eagle, they have sent in spies to disrupt any attempts to help their allied nation England. They only had to face Peter Parker, the Spider-Man.It all goes wrong. Falling for Otto Octavius’s trap, Parker is flung into the distant world native to only his wildest dreams. Where he’ll have to confront not just one, but two different shadow wars at the same time.
Kudos: 5





	1. No Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> This story originally debuted back in 2019, now rewritten and being worked on at FF.net. However, I’ll post it here too. Hope you enjoy

United States, October 3rd, 1941. The Great Depression, as it was called, has ended. War strikes the heart of Europe, with the German invasion of Poland. Britain, and France following, was the first to respond; they declared war when the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe began to slay the population.

Tanks threaded along the ground as bomber planes set the towns to fire. This was, and is, the beginning of history’s deadliest war. But with war, came the drive. The United States, ever eager to stay from conflict, resolved to stay neutral and support from afar. It was only after U-boats began sinking US ships did they decide to intervene. And thus began the war machine as it spat supplies.

Meanwhile, Hitler began to weave his strings. He took on the might of Red Russia with his own brutal force, carving his way through Poland. Italy followed under the thumb of Mussolini, and began his own quest for Empire within the African continent. Japan also began its own conquest for resources, taking Manchuria, parts of China and territories of the US. They were getting bolder; unrest was beginning to boil in Hawaii.

Britain, France, Germany, Japan and Russia. Australia and New Zealand too. Germany seemed unbeatable. Loss after loss for the Soviets broke their morale. Poland fell, and it looked like France was next. After all, this was revenge. But there was something else going on, away from the carnage; Hitler had it all planned. Take Russia quick and easy, driving them to the brink. Crush them fearlessly and ferociously with Operation Barbossa. Then, France and Britain. Italy can take care of Africa.

But Hitler was worried about the mighty brute across the Atlantic. America scared him, with the drive and the people to break him down. His war needed to end fast, lest he face the wrath of the Eagle. So he left it onto his followers; Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker and Dr. Otto Octavius. Octavius was born in Africa, but grew on the theories of Germany’s eugenics. He had a past in New York, but that fell apart. He is handicapped; quite the irony, but nonetheless he was valuable, no matter what Himmler said. Strucker was with the Nazis since the beginning, and Germany when it was still Prussia. He was part of the rise, an Intelligence agent and one leader of Hitler’s HYDRA. Tasked with finding the occult, such as the Momentary Princess; too bad for him, if it weren’t for the Canadian and the two time-travellers.

Their task was simple: to cause havoc in the US. But time and time again, they have been met with more failure than ever. 5 years ago, Dominic Fortune halted Strucker's assassionation attempt on Senator Fulton. Last year, he failed at reforming young Natasha Romanova to unleash her onto American soil, having been stopped by the Canadian again; Logan, a stubby man that sprouted claws of bone. Aiding him, Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, and a man named Ivan Petrovitch. Later that year, he tried storming Latvaria; just as suicidal as Napoleon braving Russia in the winter. Now, with burning rage, he seeks artifacts with the help of his informant Giuletta Nefaria. This brings him in constant contact with Anthony Stark, adventurer.

Octavius, meanwhile, spreads his crime through New York City. With the demise of infamous crime lord Norman Osborne and his Enforcers by the hands of The Spider-Man, there was a vacant spot to fill. And this is where it all began: a battle between New York’s wall-crawling savior and Hitler’s head scientist.

* * *

The Empire State University was a place for aspiring scholars and tourists alike. With the looming threat of poverty gone, many could now strive for the pleasures of life. And it added to the joy with the new attraction. The Arctic Shard it was called, a large crystal of unparalleled beauty. A white that gave it an appearance of a solid blizzard, and reportedly cold on the skin. It was like ice itself, though it didn’t shatter easily. They performed tests on the crystalline object, with interesting results: for its make-up, it was surprisingly durable. It dispersed light easily, despite its natural formation. As well, it dispersed the light in an odd fashion; while it could separate light into its different wavelengths, it also seemed to shimmer. It was audible and visible — a wondrous find, you could almost call it mystical. And that brought it attention.

The halls of Empire State University were dark. Well into the night, the full moon in the sky hanging above the building, shedding its light into the building below. Doused in the light of the moon, the Arctic Shard sits comfortably on a pedestal within the confines of a glass case. The shimmering within the glass gave it the appearance of an ancient relic, in a museum where it belongs. The pedestal stood erect, surrounded by other models and artifacts of the university. Pillars of marble connected the floor to the ceiling, and a staircase up at the northern end led deeper inside. However, all that was needed was right in front and right in the center.

From the black abyss of the shadows surrounding, a man calmly walked forward towards the crystal. A three-piece suit, green jacket and trousers with white button-up and a black-on-red bowtie, gave him a uniquely sinister appeal. Complementing it was a wrought-iron mask, with slits like a knight for the eyes, nose and mouth; a crest on the mask spreads across the eyes, dripping onto the cheeks like paint, but stopping at the top of the nose ridge. He eyed the Shard as he approached it, the clicking of his well-worn brown performance shoes onto tile echoing across the languid stillness of the night. The Magnificent Mysterio, a once successful magician that has now lost all relevancy, doomed to a life of crime to sate his thirst for thrills, drama and money.

“Yes…” he uttered, creeping every closer. “The Arctic Shard. The last piece. You’ll make me a mint when I hand you to Octavius.” Carefully, he lifted the glass casing of his objective. His green eyes glazed over every smooth cut. However, he didn’t take into account a trespasser that hung overhead; a lean man, clad in a dark ensemble of a turtleneck and cargo pants, overlapped by detective’s trenchcoat. A black mask covered his head, white goggles pressed into his mask.

“Yeah, you definitely could use a mint!” He snarkily remarked, reeling down an intricately woven string of coiled black silk. It stuck to the ceiling, a surprisingly strong bond for a natural web that spurts from his wrists. “I didn’t know you and ol’ wheelchair were best pals.”

“Spider-Man!” Mysterio exclaimed as he turns to face his adversary, incidentally dropping the glass casing and letting it shatter on the university floor. Reflexively, Mysterio guided his hand towards his belt, pulling out a purple capsule. The magician tosses the capsule onto the ground, shattering and releasing a spreading purple mist. From it, the rising figure of a cobra unleashed from the smokey veil, hissing and splaying its intimidating hood.

‘Feels like déjà vu’ Spider-Man thought, as he drops himself from his reel, landing on his feet. From his coat, he reached and settled two plain revolvers — double action six-shooters that took .38 special. A common sidearm for police, and Spider-Man was no exception. A shot cracked from the muzzle, recoil trailing up the webhead’s arm as the bullet tore through the illusion with ease.

“Look, Quentin pally. I like your illusions, they’re nifty, but not enough. Now, hand over the shard.” Spider-Man said as he approached Mysterio. A familiar sensation began to shudder; a group of nerves at the base of his neck began to fire off, sending signals to the brain bearing the clairvoyant warning of danger. It was like a prickle of a needle, like stepping on a leaf in autumn and hear the crack of leaves. But with it, came the foresight: duck!

And in doing so, he avoided being skewered; long snaking metal lunged, metal bound and coiled together, ending at a head that held a lone glowing red eye, and 3 mandibles claws that snapped with the metallic clamp that had the strength to quadrisect the webhead.

The metal viper continued past Spider-Man’s crouched form, grabbing hold of the Arctic Shard before forcibly grasping it and reeling back into the inky abyss of the dark. Spider-Man was confused. ‘What on God’s green Earth was that?’ His answer came to his shocked horror; revealed from the night, standing tall on abominable creations of metal that stamped the tiled floor with impact cracks, was the form of a man.

Frail, with a ghastly complexion, gaunt facial features and unkempt hair that was platinum blond. Blue eyes gazed down with suppressed madness, goggles of the thickest kind resting on his brow. A small smirk of cruelty adorned his jaw, moving forward. His legs, shriveled and disgustingly limp, swayed as he continued on artificial legs, tentacles that were 4 of its own.

“Oh? But the fun is about to begin, Spider-Man.” The voice was slightly nasal, horrifically low in volume but high in pitch. He spoke in a matter that put himself with God in power, unnervingly so. But still, he was but a man too caught up with himself. Almost narcissistic in a way. This was Otto Octavius, a once brilliant scientist that was drawn to the perverse. Once before had he faced Spider-Man on Ellis Island. Now, he has come prepared, with two tentacles floating alongside him as they reach and extend from his back.

The Arctic Shard came to rest in Octavius’s hand. He caressed it, like it was a child, before he settled into within the confines of a space within the head of a metal arm. “Do you know what the Arctic Shard really is, Spider-Man?” He asked, as the aforementioned crystal shimmered and glowed within the space in the twisted metallic snake. “It’s an energy source Humanity’s never seen before.”

“So you’re saying there’s more out there?” The Webhead asked, to which Octavius turned his head to gaze at. Neither has ever thought the other inferior, in ability nor intelligence.

Octavius stared at Spider-Man with a smile. “Yes. With extensive research, I can harness it. For Germany.” He said. “Of course —“ Octavius, in control of his eldritch creation, settled the two claws outwards towards Spider-Man. The glowing crystals within the enclosed slots of the bulbous heads, the Shard and another one very similar but with a red hue to it, began to whir and shine.

Spider-Man’s back arched on reflex, bending his knees and hyping himself to move when he needed to, when a ring of fire suddenly erupted around him. It was sudden, with no explanation, crawling hastily along the floor. It seemed to give off light and heat. A mocking laugh behind the wallcrawler brought his attention from Octavius to Mysterio. Green eyes staring back at white goggles.

“Still think my illusions are just ‘nifty’?” He laughed out. Was this an illusion? But why does it feel so real?

Spider-Man couldn’t think straight now, as his surroundings began to melt. The walls, the ceiling, the moon began to crack and shatter like God’s great wrath. Buildings toppled, voice became inaudible and muddled, the fire consuming everything in sight. How was Mysterio doing all this?

That didn’t matter. He crumpled into a groaning heap, his mind aching as he tried to collect his thoughts and senses. Forgetting his current situation, with Octavius and Mysterio. And some shard? Like it was magical?

That doesn’t matter now, as everything just blends together and fades to black. He feels himself being thrown into the air like a ragdoll, tumbling in free fall as light began to pour through his eyelids. It was red, green, blue, yellow. A swirl of color. There was no sight, only sound and feeling. His ears took in the cacophony of voices, sounds, all too close to make sense, but enough to recognize later.

As the light glowed brighter, he heard the last few words of Octavius. “— we can’t have you ruining it. Goodbye, Spider-Man.”

Then, the void.


	2. The Cat, The Bull, and The Spider

The dress of red and orange of the forest tree gently sways, the frills of leaves gently waving goodbye to the breeze as it passes. Some stay to their branch; some fall and cascade into a delicate and thin wall. They landed on the page of a book, slightly yellow of age until they were brushed from it by a dainty pale hand, a ribbon wrapped around the forearm. Eyes of amber with black ellipses of pupils scanned the text and took their full meaning of flowery proses and steamy invocations. A bow, comically large, was nestled into the flowing black hair that drape onto shoulder.

Blake Belladonna, a Faunus fighter for the White Fang, sat comfortably on a thick branch of a tree within the Forever Fall. A position high above the ground, letting her hide in the canopy and grant her respite for solitude and sanctuary for her literature (which she swears is not erotica). With a cool breeze that tousled loose hair and leaves, it was the perfect setting for her reading.

The peace, however, was broken; her feline ears, a sign of her Faunus heritage that was kept unknown to the world through her bow, perked cutely towards a strange and unique sound. Like the humm of a church choir, but distorted and faintly of chaos. And as well, a small grunt and groan following the impact of something solid against a large and durable tree.

With a huff, Blake closed her book, stashing it away in a pocket on her magnetically-attached backpack before leaping branches. Her ears twitched and jerked in directions, trying and succeeding to gain a sign of movement. And there she saw him, leaning against one of the large trees.

It was clear this was a man; tall and lean, clad in a trenchcoat black as midnight. Cargo pants and combat boots, gloves and a vest accompanied it with a fedora on top. And he was masked, his head entrapped in black with protruding white bug-like goggles. A spider emblem sat comfortably sprawled on the back of the coat. He huffed and panted, holding his abdomen. Though not distinguishable at first, a glint of light and crimson flash shines through the black. He bleeds.

Some part within Blake wanted to help. Another wanted to keep away and leave him. The skeptic and pessimist within her head battled against the sympathetic portion of her soul.

The howl of nearby Grimm had cut her decision short. The darkness of the world is ever present in their howl. Normally a howl like this, which was drawn out and echoes through the sky, signified nothing more than terror as a reminder to humanity whom it is that dominates the world. Blake understood, but the bleeding man in black sure didn’t. He stood straight and lifted his hand, the wound that was bleeding not long ago had begun to rapidly heal repair itself. That means he had aura.

The Spider-Man began to move. Blake thought about following him, but the vibrating and ringing of her Scroll answered her instead as she answered her Scroll. It was a message from someone she secretly loathed and yet still admired all the same: Adam Taurus had sent a message.

‘We’re going’

She needed no further context, as she gave a sign of discontent and begrudgingly leaped across branches to the spot where they were to meet. A boulder in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by the forever falling leaves of Forever Fall.

* * *

“Damn him…” uttered Peter Parker as he meandered with meaning through the strange forest of autumn. He wondered what kind of god-forsaken magic Octavius had used on him. The leaves seem to fall endlessly, with them matting the ground and yet the leaves covered the trees like they were an endless supply at the deli counter.

Parker spent some time wandering the forest, wondering where in the world he was. It wasn’t until he stumbled upon a cliff’s edge that he found a solution to his stranded situation: a train, deep into the fissure of the red rocks sped along its rails. By the looks of it, there were passenger cabins and cargo boxes. Perhaps he could slip in unnoticed. Certainly his attire wouldn’t draw any attention.

The train came barreling down the rail; smoke rising from the smokestack. It offered a nice place to sneak by, blending into the smoke. The mask and goggles would prevent any irritation by the burning coal fumes. Parker stood at the cliff’s edge, looking out, but only for a moment before he dove from the cliff. His boots skid along the red layered sedimentary rock faces, traces of soft dust trailing behind him. His gloved hands kept his fedora from flying.

As he approached the rails he jumped high. At his apex, two strands of black web silk shoot from his wrists; long biological cables as strong as steel and elastic like rubber, stuck to the side of the passengers cabin. Instantly he was dragged along by the extreme magnitude of the train’s inertia. Thanks to his inhuman agility and the spider hairs along his hands and feet, however, he was able to safely stick to the side of the passenger cabin situated at the front. At the back were cargo holds and flat platforms. The entire front section was dedicated to passengers.

From the smoke, Parker flipped from the side and settled himself at the sliding door leading to what is assumed to be the dining car. Doffing his mask, Parker revealed his face to the world: a young man, with black hair oiled and swept back, tufts of the black sprouting up at the peak of his forehead. His head was slim with a square jaw, chiseled by hollow cheeks and pronounced cheekbones. His eyes were narrow and observant like a hard-boiled pulp detective. He wasn’t handsome by some people’s standards, but indeed he was quite the charming young man.

Donned still were the outfit and fedora, only this time without the mask; he was personified by the large prescription glasses that shielded his eyes and adjusted the light around him. He saw that the dining cabin was housing a large eclectic assortment of rich folk: cocktail dresses and feather boas, elegant suits and well-groomed people Parker was familiar with back in New York. He was never the ones for the rich, never one to be attracted to them at all. He often believed their troubles came from the avarice of the rich; why life was so difficult for the rest living in New York. A soft piano tune hung in the air, like playing from a recording, accompanied the scene. The walls and floor where white, the seats a velvet red and brown with wood stain, and tiny glass chandeliers hung above them. The people around were oblivious to the appearance of Parker, except for a waiter pushing along the cart of assorted foods.

“Excuse me,” He said. “You’re a Huntsman, right?”

Huntsman, Parker thought, What does he mean? “Uhmm, yes. I am a Huntsman.” He lied, garnering him a few looks from amongst the crowd of the wealthy. Looks ranging from indifference, suspicion or praise. The spider emblem on the back of his coat and combat attire reinforces his claims and reinforces the varied expressions of what few bored upper class paid attention to, even if it was unintentional.

“Well, sir, I’ll have to ask you to leave. You’re distressing the passengers.” He said.

Then, the cabin began to rock. It sent the waiter tumbling and many shook violently with the cabin. Parker, however, was very much alert to everything as he stood still through it. He whipped his Colt Detectives around his finger with wild-west dexterity,

“Wait here. Don’t let anyone leave this cabin!” Parker said as he slid open the door. He closed it behind him to the sight of the waiter nodding with a shocked expression. Once again he slipped on the mask and goggles as he jumped onto the cabin roof and peered down the sections. Smoke was rising where it shouldn’t. Situated at the cargo holds and a bit close for comfort. Spider-Man lept across roofs until he reached where trouble was near. He ducked underneath a metal torso, and evaded stray bullets until he was witnessing a horde battle between two people and robots.

“What the hell is going on here?” He asked underneath his breath, watching as the girl with the bow and the boy with red hair and a mask decimate the automatons that rush them. Both work in tandem with each other. Flowing with grace and acrobatics that seem superhuman; like watching pulp characters in action before his eyes. Where exactly did Peter go that had people with superpowers? He didn’t have much of a voice in the topic, but even then he was supposed to be the uncommon factor.

They didn’t see him watching and moved on to the next cabin. Good; Spider-Man dropped down from his perch as he trailed behind them, stepping into shadows of the steel car. Many things began to seem off; the lights glowed red and were caged behind metal bars. Large metal crates baring eccentric snowflake ensigns. The more Peter saw, the more he began to believe to be somewhere else, like he had landed in a world full of pulp heroes. Only more damning if he finds someone akin to Doc Savage.

In the shadows, Spider-Man watched as the two approached one of the crates. The man in black with red hair and bull horns cracked the cover open, peering into its contents.

“Perfect.” The man said with a malicious grin. “Move up to the next car.” He closed the crate cover before going to inspect another one. “I’ll set the charges.”

“What about the passengers? Or the crew members?” The girl asked. Her voice was filled with worry.

“What about them?” The man said, an apathetic tone ringing.

“What do you mean ‘what about them’? You said this would be sabotage. Adam, there are children on board, their families—“

“They’re human, Blake. Humans that put us down like animals. Why should I care if I put them down? For all Faunus?” The man, Adam, said as he raised his voice. Clearly he was angry at being questioned. All the while, the girl Blake grew more worried and horrified.

He’s planning on blowing the train. Parker thought. Time to act fast.

From the darkness, there was a click. Adam and Blake found themselves at the end of two gun barrels, archaic and rudementary. Their eyes, Faunus eyes, adjusted the darkness to see their intuder; Spider-Man peer his eyes down the barrels towards the two. “Hold it there, cowboy.”

Both Adam and Blake found themselves stunned at having been caught not by an Atlas drone, but a Huntsman. A unique one at that, as he held both of them up using two old-fashioned revolvers that look centuries old. Both became defensive; he is a Huntsman after all. Adam’s shock soon became rage.

“Who are you?” Adam asked, hands drifting to his scabbard. His mouth turned up into a snarl.

“Depends on who’s asking.” Spider-Man said. His fingers grew tenser. A familiar buzz grew at his neck.

“The man who’s going to kill you.” Immediately, that buzz spiked. In split-seconds, Spider-Man jerked his head back and narrowly avoided being decapitated by the shining red blade of Adam. Adam’s mouth went agape as the man dodged his swing by hairs, and was sent back by a knee to his gut for his troubles. With a crash, his back met the crates as he soared past Blake.

“Gotta be faster than that.” Spider-Man taunted. A shot rang from his revolver, the bullet ripping past air towards Adam. With only moments to react, the bullet soon met the edge of Adam’s sword, the metal splitting into two. Both pieces fell harmlessly to the ground along Adam’s sides. His anger flared; he was not going to be beaten.

In a rage, Adam set an onslaught on slices and lunges at Spider-Man. Each one nearly hitting the mark, with rips and tears at his clothing. And for each slash, he was met with fists, kicks, all manners of retaliation. One horizontal swipe across the chest ripped the cloth and revealed plates of armor underneath; odd for a Huntsman, but no matter.

Spider-Man made a quick retreat, letting loose two more wild shots that didn’t hit their mark. Enough to distract Adam with concern of being hit by the heavy projectiles. They seem to fall faster than the bullets used by Atlas personnel. Thicker, with a louder bang that slightly pierced the ear and making them hurt. In retaliation, the scabbard of Adam’s blade, Wilt and Blush, revealed its grip and trigger, shifting with a low whir and sprayed small bullets. They moved slower, and Spider-Man found them easier to dodge than any other rounds he had gone against.

Spider-Man did not want to reveal all his cards in a single hand. He had refrained from showing his ability to shoot webs. But it seemed as though now would be a good time. He moved out of the way from another volley that struck against the walls, filling it with echoing metal. With the element of surprise, he threw his hand forward. From the breach between his gloves and coat came the black silk wire of webs that zipped towards the rifle-scabbard of Adam. And with a yank, it came from his hands. It definitely caught Adam off-guard in a twofold fashion: first, he did not anticipate such a move. And second, it made him question who is behind the mask.

“You’re a Faunus?” Adam asked.

“What do you mean?” Spider-Man replied.

“Are you a spider Faunus? Answer the question!”

“What does it matter?”

Adam let out a small snort of anger. “What do you mean what does it matter? How could you fight your own brethren, you chance of liberation?” Adam put a hand onto his mask, gesturing to it. “The White Fang fight for all Faunus. To liberate us from the supermacy of Humans, who exploit us, hunt us, murder us like livestock. How could you betray your own kind?”

Spider-Man’s still mask shifted. A gesture of inquiry. “Simple; you happen to be planning to kill people, I just so happen to stand in your way. A simple question of morality. What more is there?”

“They’re Humans! They— !” Adam growled.

“They’re people!” Spider-Man cut him off. “This is terrorism. You’re no better than the people you’re opposed to. If this is what liberation is, then it can go to Hell with you!”

Adam was beyond furious. Here he was, fighting with one of his own that sided against him. He felt disgusted at the idea of having to bring harm to his own, but he had sided against them. His own people. Against him. Once again, Adam readied his blade Wilt. Spider-Man threw the scabbard Blush to the side, clattering on the floor.

“Com’on, cowboy. Where’s that fight you had in you?” Spider-Man taunted. Once again, Adam’s rage was alighted.

All the while, Blake stood back and watched everything unfold. Caught in a clash between two sides of her mind. In her heart of hearts, she debated on who to side here.

“Blake! Don’t just stand there, help me!” Adam chastised.

“One move and you’ll be full of sunshine, doll. Choose wisely.” Spider-Man warned, cocking the hammer of his revolvers for emphasis.

“Don’t you dare do anything to her!” Adam roared as he charged with blinding speed. He earned a slash across Spider-Man’s chest, causing him to fall back. Once again, they were caught in a clash of sword swings and hard blows, as each fighter refused to let up on each attack and counterattack. Blake watched as both fought one another on equal terms. It wasn’t long before Adam, in a fast and dirty strike, struck the black huntsman with the end of Wilt’s hilt into his gut. The jarring strike struck and knocked the wind out of him, letting him be kicked out of the cabin, the metal door flying off with his body.

Spider-Man skidded across the platform floor, surrounded by the crates covered in tarps and strapped down against the turbulence of the rushing train. He picked himself up and saw Adam approach him menacingly, outside the cabin. Blush was strapped back to Adam’s belt oncd more, and the white and red of the mask over his face intensified; the blade of Wilt glowed more in the sun. Blake had unconsciously followed but stayed at the doorway, watching.

There was only a momentary standoff between the two before Adam charged again with a poised and passionate strike. It was only a matter of following the buzz at the base of his neck that Spider-Man dodged each swing at him. A hard kick to Adam’s side sent him staggering back. Suddenly, there were two lines that connected both. Adam looked down in slight confusion, before being reeled in. It was hard to breath after his neck met Spider-Man’s arm in a clothesline, then being smashed down by and axe kick. All the while, Blake stayed back in her war of loyalties.

At last, she reached her conclusion.

Adam layed exhausted. Breathing heavy, panting as he felt his Aura drain. He had been bested by a Huntsman who used obsolete weapons. Who dodged swiftly. One of his own kind. He turned his head to look at Blake, who stood motionless.

“Blake…” he rasped out from his hurt throat. Blake only seemed to flinch slightly at her name. He reach out to her — pleaded for her. But she only turned her back towards him.

“Goodbye, Adam.” She whispered. She added nothing more, as Blake just walked away.

Adam felt his hands and feet be restrained. Bundles of black silk adhered to him and to the dolly of the train. Spider-Man loomed over, the white gleam of the morning sun in his goggles looking over him.

“Too bad, cowboy.” He said. “Looks like your partner just left you high and dry.” Spider-Man began to make his way towards the passenger cabin, walking past Adam’s restrained body; too tired to move, he submitted to his fate. “Those webs’ll keep you there for about an hour. Just enough for the coppers to haul you away.”

“I’ll kill you. You hear me.” Adam let out through his rasped voice. A final threat — more like a promise. Despite it, Spider-Man only let out a small chuckle. His face swiveled to glance at Adam, the sun ever glowing off the glass lenses.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Adam’s world went dark after that when hard leather collided with his skull. Black encroached his vision and time stopped at the one point.

Spider-Man looked down at the unconscious terrorist he had restrained. He let the girl get away, but something told him it won’t be the last time they meet. Nonetheless, he still had to report in Adam and make sure the proper authorities take him away. The red stone walls of the canyon had started to shrink not too long ago, and soon they had disappeared completely, replaced by a canopy of green. The train he rode on continued on rails towering over the forrest. In the distance was a large building not unlike that of a fantasy castle; it only reinforced Parker’s idea of the Pulps.

Wherever he was, wasn’t New York.


End file.
